


One Hobbit Against Five Armies of Stupidity

by driedupwishes



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, bagginshield, pre-BoFA au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-15 01:25:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2210445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/driedupwishes/pseuds/driedupwishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins was tired, dirty, and had had it up to here with everyone's ridiculous stubbornness. He swore when he got his hands on Gandalf the Grey, he was going to bloody strangle him. That would be after he knocked some sense into that damn gold crazed dwarf first, however. That was, of course, if he lived through the experience of letting Thorin Oakshield know he had the Arkenstone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Hobbit Against Five Armies of Stupidity

The story of how Bilbo Baggins saved the lives of his dwarven companions throughout his journey to the Lonely Mountain was one Gandalf the Grey never tired of telling, particularly the part at the end with the Arkenstone. Bilbo thought the tale was quite overrated and overdone, finding the wizard’s way of turning a phrase to be silly and mocking instead of sincere. In his own eyes Bilbo hadn’t done anything spectacular or amazing; he had simply decided that no one was going to die as a result of Thorin Oakenshield’s daft plan to reclaim his home and then put every ounce of his energy into making that decision a reality. For the most part the little hobbit had his work cut out for him, because the dwarves were a hearty race who did not take to injury lightly. It wasn’t until they had reached the Lonely Mountain and the dragon was slain did the real challenge to his task rear its ugly head. 

Bilbo shouldn’t have been surprised that the biggest problem he had to face in keeping his companions alive was Thorin Oakenshield’s giant ego, but somehow he was. Thorin had truly been a pain in Bilbo’s spirit throughout the first portion of their journey, but once they’d gotten past the goblins the dwarf had looked at him in a whole new light, one that had made the hobbit’s insides feel warm and fuzzy.

Now Bilbo Baggins was no blushing little maiden first being asked to dance at her very own coming of age party, but sometimes Thorin made him feel as such. He rationalized that every once in a while he was allowed to let the big strong dwarf make him feel like a flushed tramp, if only because everyone was allowed to feel like a flushed tramp some of the time no matter who they were. But, he told himself sternly, that didn’t mean he was just about to let the big idiotic dwarf ruin all the hard work his company has put into reclaiming the mountain.

The King Under the Mountain, also know to his party as Thorin Oakenshield (also known to Bilbo as “that great dwarven oaf who’s eyes were too pretty for their own good), was firmly under the spell of the gold sickness. He was desperate for the Arkenstone, raving madly around the treasure room looking for the blasted thing. Bilbo let him rage for a short time, figuring it would be easier to let the man work through his steam than to try and talk him out of it, but the longer the stone was kept from him the madder Thorin got. It soon became apparent to Bilbo that if he wanted the dwarven menace Kili and Fili called an uncle to come to his senses he was going to have to knock it into him the good old hard way.

“Uncle’s gone mad,” Kili whispered one day. He was sitting on a cold pile of gold, knees brought up to his chest like a child’s. He was still pale and weak from the poison arrow the orcs had hit him with back in Mirkwood, though he often denied it. Kili, Fili, and Bofur had shown up at the front door of the kingdom barely hours after the dragon had been slain, though Kili had barely been conscious. With them had been the gorgeous elven lady Tauriel, who had disappeared as soon as Kili had crossed the threshold, saying something about hunting down her king’s youngest prince and making sure the orcs hadn’t turned him into a hat yet. Kili had watched her go with the sort of mooning sadness young hobbits experienced on the first legs of their courtings and though Bilbo personally thought that a romance between an elf and a dwarf was doomed beyond measure he was proud of the young boy nonetheless. 

“I’ve noticed,” Bilbo told Kili quietly. He was sitting on a pile of gold much like the prince’s, though his own legs were splayed out in front of him lazily. If he had understood the warnings Bofur had tried to relay to Thorin upon the hated dwarf’s arrival, there should be an army banging down their front door within a forthnight and that army would be just as gold mad as Thorin was. To tell the truth Bilbo wasn’t looking forward to it at all. 

“Why can’t we find the Arkenstone?” Fili wondered aloud. There was a stray gem caught in his braids, which were blood encrusted and muddy like the fur of his coat, which was sticking straight up, dirty and stiff. Bilbo had tried to convince the dwarves that they should really break for a bath, maybe get some of the rooms of the kingdom into a more livable condition, but Thorin had overthrown that decision before he’d even finished his first sentence. That had been one of the more frequent moments wherein Bilbo Baggins considered strangling their leader. 

“I mean,” the blond dwarf continued, scratching his head with a dirty bandaged hand, “we’ve tossed about every single gem and piece of gold in this room. Why can we not find the Arkenstone?”

“Oh,” Bilbo said quietly. He was tired, dirty, crusted with days old blood, hungry, cold, and frustrated as he had never been before in his life; practically said, Bilbo Baggins was at the very end of his neatly tied rope. He looked up at the blond dwarf and smiled a bit as he answered. 

“That would be because it’s in my pocket.”

Kili and Fili froze completely, like they were statues made out of stone and not young dwarves. Bilbo was pretty sure he’d heard a story about dwarves actually being statues brought to life by one of the gods, but he wasn’t completely sure. He was pretty sure he could have asked Bofur about it, or perhaps Ori, but he just hadn’t had the chance. Dwarves were a secretive race and he had only recently earned their trust. He had planned to ask to get a glimpse of their library, but Thorin had demanded that all hands be on deck for the finding of the Arkenstone instead. Blasted gold mad dwarf.

“What?” Fili muttered, turning to look at him. His eyes were wider than the largest of gems in the hold around them and his mouth gaped open in shock. “You what?”

“The stone’s in my pocket,” Bilbo said, matter of fact. “That would be why you cannot find it.”

“But why?” Kili all but wailed. He leaned forward, wincing quietly when the movement pulled at his wounded leg. “Uncle will gut you when he finds out you have had the stone and haven’t told him. How long have you had it?”

“Ages,” Bilbo answered, like he couldn’t care less. The trick to sounding like you couldn’t care less, he reflected, was not, in fact, caring at all. Being dirty and fed up did much for a person’s courage, after all, which was a handy trick. Not one Bilbo favored, though, not by the longest of shots. “Before the dragon was slain, in fact.”

“But why haven’t you handed it over?”

“Because your uncle’s being a right fool and I am not in the mood to cater to such behavior.”

Fili and Kili blinked at the hobbit in front of them like they weren’t sure he was completely real. He wasn’t bothered by their behavior though, because he was completely done with the nonsense of dwarves. When Gandalf the Grey showed up Bilbo was going to wring his bloody neck and then give him the biggest tongue lashing the meddlesome wizard he ever experienced. That scatterbrained scarf wearing menace had known that Thorin would fall under the spell of the gold sickness, same as his grandfather had, but he tottered off without a second thought to what would happen. Oh, Bilbo hadn’t been so furious in his entire life!

“You’re joking, right?” Fili said, baffled. “Bilbo, please; tell me this is some sort of joke.”

“No,” Bilbo said clearly, “it is not.” He was tempted to throw in a question about the types of jokes drwarves told, if the poor boy was mistaking his statements as jokes, but he didn’t. He’d heard a few of Bofur’s jokes throughout their journey, so he knew exactly the kind of humor they tended toward. Some of those jokes weren’t bad, actually, and if he ever lived to go back to the Shire he had plans to tell some of them to Lobelia. What a laugh that would be, he reflected with a little grin. 

“But Bilbo,” Kili said, casting glances around to make sure his uncle was nowhere in sight. “In this state of mind uncle is in he could consider that treason.”

Bilbo snorted. He’d never snorted before in his life, not in front of company, but traveling with dwarves for months on end did terrible things to one’s manners. He couldn’t be blamed for a few barbaric here and there. 

“I’d like to see him try, the big oaf,” the tiny hobbit said. “I’ll cuff him around the ear like the spoiled brat he’d being, just you watch. Actually,” Bilbo said slowly, blinking a little to himself. “That sounds like a rather nice idea.”

“Oh no,” Fili said, scrambling to stand up. Bilbo ignored him, shifting up until he was standing in the cold shifting piles of coins. It had been such a bother to learn how to walk on the silly things, but after a while one could get used to almost anything.

“Bilbo, please,” Kili begged, reaching out to grab at Bilbo’s left arm. The hobbit ducked the boy’s grip easily, slipping his hands in his coat pockets as he did so. “He’ll hurt you,” the dark haired dwarf pointed out desperately. Bilbo sighed a little bit, sadness curling in his stomach.

“Yes, I suppose he might,” the curly haired hobbit said. “But someone needs to shake some sense into that man before the entire world tries to break down your gates and I will not stand to have him put anyone in danger for a simple stupid stone.” 

With that being said Bilbo Baggins marched across the length of the treasure room, on a mission to find the (rather foolish and stupid) King Under the (almost utterly destroyed) Mountain. Kili and Fili hurried to follow him and as they passed the dwarves scattered around the room began to join Bilbo’s mission as well. Whispers erupted from behind him as the boys told the others of what Bilbo was planning to do. He could hear Dwalin’s loud protest more clearly than any others, but Balin quickly put an end to his brother’s fury.

“Hush,” Balin said from behind Bilbo. They were just cresting over one of the more ridiculous piles of gold and the little hobbit could just spot the dwarven king at the bottom, knee deep in coins and furiously digging. “Bilbo’s right, lad; this cannot go on for any longer. Thorin’s been bewitched by the stone ever since he laid eyes on the mountain and I, for one, would like to live to see Erebor rebuilt into its former glory. Which is something that won’t happen if all the armies in the world come a’knockin’ at our door.”

Bilbo wasn’t sure if Dwalin was satisfied with that answer, but he didn’t bother to wait around to find out. “Thorin,” he called out sharply, pulling his hands from his pockets and fisting them upon his hips. He stormed down the slide of coins as gracefully as he could manage, though he still slipped down the bottom. This meant that Bilbo ended up skidding into the burly man’s side instead of stopping a few feet out of arm’s reach, which had been the plan just in case Thorin truly tried to throttle him. 

“Yes, burglar?” Thorin asked, distracted. He steadied Bilbo with an absent hand, a hand that lingered against the smaller man’s shoulder for a short second. The action sent a flutter of smoke through the hobbit, as if there were an old pipe in his gut, right where the portion of his torso met his hips. He felt warm all over, all the way to the tips of his pointed ears. When Bilbo didn’t continue Thorin finally looked up, pushing his wild mane of hair out of his face so that he could see. 

“Is there something the matter,” Thorin asked. He was having one of his clearer moments, apparently. Bilbo wondered how long that would last. The Took portion of himself was ready to take bets on the matter, but he shushed such nonsense within himself and steeled for the mayhem he was about to start. 

“Thorin,” Bilbo said, quite bravely if he did say so himself. It wasn’t so much from bravery that he pulled his strength from, however, but from a deep and seated exhaustion and the need for a good bath, neither of which would be remedied until Thorin’s gold sickness was taken care of. “This needs to stop.”

Thorin blinked. “What needs to stop, master burglar?”

“Your quest for that blasted stone.”

From up upon the hill of gold coins several small gasps were heard. Bilbo had learned firsthand that dwarves had very sensitive ears, but it had never been more annoying than at this point in time. An audience was definitely not needed for this matter, of that he was sure. He turned and sent a quick scowl up at their companions, who had not the shame to even pretend as if they were not fascinated by what was happening. Thorin, when Bilbo turned back to look at him, did not look pleased. 

“The Arkenstone is my birthright,” Thorin said between clenched teeth. “It shall be mine, just as this kingdom is mine. If you are suggesting that I give up on the stone ever being found-“

“I’m not suggesting it,” Bilbo said, making sure to emphasize his words clearly. He found himself clenching his teeth, spitting the words from between pressed thin lips. That was such a dwarven thing to do that for a moment he was amazed, but then that moment passed. “You must let go of the stone, Thorin, or I fear you will die.”

Thorin scoffed. “Die,” he repeated, a great storm cloud of emotion passing over his face. “It is my birthright,” he repeated, “and I shall have it.”

“You heard Bofur just the same as I did,” Bilbo pointed out to the towering man who stood a scant few inches from him. “The goblins are pooling their armies together with those of the orcs from the north. The men of Laketown grow restless; cold, hungry, and wounded as they are. I might not know a lot about war and violence, Thorin Oakenshield, but I know enough to spot it when it is coming. If you do not give up on this stone you will still be scrambling to find it when all the armies of the world come knocking at your door!”

“Let them come,” Thorin roared, throwing his arms wide. His face twisted, turning the handsome imagine into the same cruel sight that had planted a sword at Bilbo’s chest and refused to let him move, even when the dragon bellowed behind them. “They will beat themselves dead upon our doorstep. All will be fine once I have the stone.”

“You aren’t listening,” Bilbo wailed at him. He stomped one foot into the golden coins below, crossing his arms lengthways along his chest and then quickly uncrossing them. “Are you going to let your kin die for this blasted stone,” he asked, poking one of his short fingers into the meat of Thorin’s shoulder. “Will you let the orcs flood the room, tear your nephews and friends apart, all because you cannot find a single stone in a vast chamber of pretty baubles?”

“I will kill any who keep me from the stone,” Thorin said levelly. His tone was supposed to signal the end of the discussion, but Bilbo was not done with him yet. The dwarven king had brushed aside his concerns as if they were merely flies, but Bilbo knew one last way that would make him see.

“You swear on your blood,” Bilbo asked, hands dropping loosely to his sides. “You swear on the Durin’s blood that runs in your veins that you shall kill whoever refuses to give you the Arkenstone?”

From upon the great hill of golden coins Bilbo heard Kili and Fili’s cries of dismay, though they were weak and childish, as if they were but children screaming for their parents from a long distance away. Thorin spared them not a glance, nodding his head sharply at the hobbit in front of him.

“Aye,” Thorin said. “I swear on my blood as Durin’s kin and heir to the mountain throne that anyone who refuses to hand over the Arkenstone to me shall taste death at my blade.”

“Well then,” Bilbo said quietly. He reached down, grasping Thorin’s hand and forcing him to wrap his fingers around the hilt of Orcist. The dwarf pulled the blade from his hip at the burglar’s prodding, confused for one long moment until the small hobbit man maneuvered so that the king’s blade was pointed at his own neck. Thorin froze and Bilbo could see the comprehension bleed into his eyes, could see the anger begin to show in the way Thorin’s thick strong fingers tightened around the hilt of his blade. “I guess,” Bilbo continued, “I shall taste death at your blade, shan’t I?”

“Burglar,” Thorin snapped. There was the sound of a scuffle happening upon the hill above them, but Bilbo heard Dwalin grab the boys and keep them from rushing down to stop their uncle. Bofur was swearing in the dwarven language under his breath, the sound a thick mess of vowels Bilbo had so wanted to learn. “What is the meaning of this?”

“I will not give you the Arkenstone,” Bilbo said quietly. “It sits in my pocket, where it has since I found it on my first visit into these treasure filled halls. If you wish to own it as badly as you say, you will have to spill my blood upon your boots and dirty your hands by digging through my pockets for it.”

Everything in Bilbo’s body screamed for him to slip on the ring and run. Thorin was furious, shaking a little bit with his every breath, and Bilbo had no doubt in his mind that he was about to die. He had thought that maybe putting his own life on the line would snap Thorin out of the gold induced craze he had been in, but apparently he had been wrong. Thorin did not value their friendship the same way Bilbo did. Thorin’s fingers tightened even more firmly around the hilt of the blade, which then steadied against the line of skin peeking from between Bilbo’s dirty hair and the rumpled ruined collar of the shirt he had gotten from Bard. The hobbit took a deep long breath, quietly memorizing the lines of the face so twisted with greed in front of him, and then closed his eyes, resigned already to his fate.

The sound of metal clattering against metal rose to Bilbo’s ears. The hint of pressure against his neck disappeared just a second before that sound occurred, which was almost immediately followed by the whump of a great deal of weight falling to one side. Someone wretched quietly, their breathing erratic, their voice hoarse and broken as they whispered no. Bilbo opened his eyes, surprised to be alive, and found that Thorin was sitting on the gold at his feet, staring up at him with wide, frightened eyes. There was a bit of vomit stuck in his beard, which would have turned Bilbo’s stomach months ago at the start of their quest, and still, to be honest, turned it just a smidge. 

“Bilbo,” Thorin said, shakily. Orcist lay several feet out of reach, apparently having been tossed aside in great haste. The great dwarven king, who had shown up on Bilbo’s doorstep one dark night when the stars had shown bright and lovely, was now a pale frightened thing, with purple bags like tealeaves under his eyes.

“There now,” Bilbo said. His own voice shook just a hair, as did his hands when he curled them into his pockets. The knuckles of his right hand grazed the cool surface of the very stone that had almost gotten him killed, while his left knuckles pressed against the cool metal edges of the golden ring he’d stolen from Gollum. “That’s much better, don’t you think?”

“I was going to kill you,” Thorin said weakly. He looked horrified by the idea and he twisted his head down to stare at his own hands. He stared at the shaking digits as if they belonged to a stranger, s if they had not accompanied him all of his long life so far.

“I was going to kill you,” he repeated, “and you were going to let me.”

“I knew you weren’t going to kill me,” Bilbo lied. Luckily for him he’d gotten quite the hang of it after several months of travel. His voice hardly wavered at all and if anyone asked, he’d like to see them do better after having a dear friend hold a sword at their neck. 

“Don’t fret,” Bilbo instructed, tottering forward a few steps until Thorin’s head was level with his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around the king, ignoring the way Thorin tried to shy away from his touch like a skittish pony. “Everyone has their off days, don’t you worry.”

Thorin laughed roughly. After a few seconds his arms came up to slowly wrap around Bilbo’s waist. “Off days,” he repeated. “I was going to kill you over a silly piece of rock, burglar.”

Bilbo smiled slightly. “Aye,” he agreed softly, “but you didn’t. And that’s all that matters in the end, isn’t it? What you didn’t do. You didn’t kill me for the Arkenstone.”

Thorin breathed in and then out for the span of several long minutes. Bilbo was sure that their companions were still atop the hill, staring down at them like they were some kind of puppet show being put on for their amusement, but Bilbo couldn’t find it in him to care. 

“You said something about armies,” Thorin muttered eventually, pulling back so that he could look up into Bilbo’s eyes. Bilbo nodded, keeping his arms wrapped comfortably around the dwarf’s shoulders. He had no doubt Thorin could feel the Arkenstone where it lay in his coat pocket, but the presence of the stone no longer seemed to enchant the king, so Bilbo did not worry. 

“We cannot fight all the armies of the world and win,” the great stubborn oaf of a dwarf said eventually. Bilbo would deny it if asked, but pride swelled in him at the statement.

“No, you can’t,” Bilbo said. “But if you were to extend a greeting to the men of Laketown and offer them your services in rebuilding their lives in exchange for their loyalty I don’t think you should have a problem.” For a moment the dwarf didn’t speak, but then, after humming in the back of his throat, resolution came over his face.

“I could send word to Bard,” Thorin mused slowly. “He took care of my kin and slew the beast which stole our home. He is a good man; working with him should not be hard.”

“No it shouldn’t,” Bilbo stated primly. He resisted the urge to pat Thorin on the head like he was a child learning his letters, but only just barely. “And once you have the men of Laketown on your side we can send word to the elves. Tauriel mentioned that she was worried about the movement of the dark forces within their borders, so it should not be too difficult to convince the king that allying himself with you would be a smart move. It helps that you’ve already got something that he wants, of course, but the arguments about which gems go where can wait for a day in which you have a working throne room, I imagine.”

Thorin said nothing. Bilbo fretted for a second that he had overstepped his bounds, talking of alliances with elves and giving away the gems Thorin had fought to keep. But then the dwarf relaxed against him, his head falling back upon Bilbo’s shoulder. Thorin’s warm, broad shoulders then shook with quiet laughter.

“What is so funny?” Bilbo asked testily. He’d had quite enough of dwarves laughing at him during at the start of their trip, when he had been forced to bathe in rivers and lakes with the others. If Thorin had found something he said amusing the hobbit was going to start screaming, Bilbo swore on his mother’s Tookish name he was.

“Where would we be without you, Bilbo Baggins?” Thorin wondered softly. He squeezed Bilbo in his arms, twisted his head into Bilbo’s neck so that he could press the end of his nose against the hobbit’s dirty skin. “Dead, I suppose,” he continued, as if the question had not been directed at Bilbo at all, but at himself as a kind of reminder. “Most assuredly dead.” Bilbo swallowed roughly, overcome with emotion at the idea.

“Well it’s a good thing I came along then, isn’t it,” Bilbo mumbled awkwardly. His cheeks must have been as pink as the flowers Gamgee kept in his garden, the ones that bloomed both in the spring and in the fall. Homesickness swelled in his chest, which he quickly squashed underfoot as carefully as he could. The dwarves were back in their home, but it was not quite a home yet, was it? 

“Thorin,” Bilbo said pointedly, pulling back a little bit from the king’s embrace. “Erebor needs work done to it if you are going to live here,” he prompted. Thorin peeked up at him, a grown man acting like a hobbit child whose mother was speaking of chores. The action brought a wry grin to Bilbo’s lips and a small patch of laughter to his lungs. “I mean it, Thorin,” he said, narrowing his eyes in good nature at the other man, “if we do not get the baths within this kingdom working within the next couple of days I am going back to stay with the elves.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” Thorin said quietly, “now would we?” He shifted, standing up without releasing Bilbo form his grip. The result was that Bilbo stood tucked under the great king’s arm, his head pressed against the same shoulder the warg had damaged back when it had looked like they were to die within a pair of burning trees. 

“Bofur, Balin,” Thorin called up to the group of busybody dwarves who had watched the whole scene, probably with a great deal of glee. The result was a slide of coins as the band of nosy dwarves shifted around in obvious excitement. 

“Aye, m’lord,” Balin called back down. Bilbo had difficulty telling from such a distance, but he could have sworn the old dwarf was grinning from ear to ear. Kili and Fili were definitely grinning, with such a level of amazement in their eyes that Bilbo could spot it even from the distance between them. 

“Send word out to Bard that we wish to talk about the rebuilding of Dale and the housing of the Laketown people in the halls of Erebor. Quickly,” Thorin called, sounding more lively than he had in ages, “for I need a response from him before sunup tomorrow.”

Bofur and Balin exchanged a look between them that Bilbo could not even begin to understand. “Of course m’lord,” Bofur called down, clapping his hands together. “Should we send word to the elves as well?”

Kili visibly perked up at the mention of the elves, which had Fili rolling his eyes. Bilbo caught Thorin eying his youngest nephew in confusion and abruptly remembered that Thorin was not aware of Kili’s infatuation with the lady elf. He winced internally, already trying to figure out a way to break the news to the king. Fili had muttered something of the words Kili had said to the lady elf just after she had saved in Laketown and though Bilbo did not know a great deal about love he knew enough to spot the beginnings of it when he saw it.

“Not yet,” Thorin called up. “We’ll send word to them when I hear back from Bard. For now let’s get to work clearing out as many rooms of the palace as we can, so that they are livable once more. Dwalin, you go check on the armory and collect all the usable weapons. If those orcs are still about we don’t want to be caught with our pants down around our ankles again. Aye?”

“Aye,” Dwalin called back. He looked straight down at Bilbo before he left, obviously trying to convey something with his gaze, but what he was trying to say was lost on Bilbo. The huge frightening dwarf stalked off, Nori at his heels, with nothing more than a nod farewell. Balin and Bofur disappeared in much the same way. Throughout the entire discussion Thorin’s arm never once left Bilbo’s shoulders, which was quite a nice feeling, Bilbo had to admit.

“I guess we better go and help them, then,” Bilbo muttered. As much as he wanted a bath and a place to put his head that wasn’t a pile of gold coins he certainly wasn’t looking forward to dealing with the filth that had likely taken over the rooms of Erebor in the sixty years since the dragon attack. He turned to slip out of Thorin’s grip, but found that the dwarf’s fingers had coiled into the muscle of his shoulder. When he twisted to look up at the man he found the king’s other arm coming up, curling around his side, until he was being hugged once again by the great dwarven king.

“If I ever see Gandalf again, I’m going to throttle that meddlesome wizard,” Thorin breathed into Bilbo’s shoulder. Bilbo understood that sentiment exactly, though he hadn’t the faintest idea of what had brought on such a thought. He told Thorin so too, which earned him another soft chuckle, one that tickled down his spine and brought with it the feeling of toe curling warmth. 

“He left you in such great danger,” Thorin explained after a long moment of silence, though he had to be prodded in the side with Bilbo’s finger to get even that much. “He wandered off to meddle in other people’s business, trusting your safety to myself and my people. I was going to kill you over a stone and if I had it would have been no one’s fault but mine and Gandalf’s.”

“I knew you weren’t going to kill me,” Bilbo insisted quickly. Thorin hummed softly under his breath, the moist heat that he released pressing against Bilbo’s exposed skin and making him shiver.

“Keep the stone,” Thorin told him when he withdrew from Bilbo’s embrace. “As long as I have you around to remind me that I am a king I need it not.”

And that was the tale of how Bilbo Baggins singlehandedly cured the King Under the Mountain of his gold madness. There was more to the tale, such as the part wherein the hobbit burglar met with the elven king face to face, or the bit wherein the little man from the Shire actually did get his hands on Gandalf the Grey and the great tongue lashing that followed that meeting, but those were bits of the story were not the ones reflected on often. Bilbo’s favorite part of the tale came much later on, after the Battle of Five Armies had been fought and won. His friends had lived, as had their new allies, and after several grueling months of work, the kingdom of Erebor had once again approached the term ‘livable’. A great feast had been held as soon as enough tables could be found and dwarves, men, and elves alike had drunk and ate and made merry with one another, such as they had not for many a decade. When Bilbo told the tale he liked to reflect on the fact that if it hadn’t been for the overwhelmingly giddy spirit that soaked into everyone that night poor Kili might not have made it out of that mess alive, for it was on that night that Thorin Oakenshield found out about his nephew’s infatuation with the elven maiden Tauriel. But those weren’t the parts Bilbo told often, despite them being his favorites, for those weren’t the parts that caught the attention of the little hobbits that flocked to his bench to hear him speak.

“Please Mister Bilbo,” Gamgee’s youngest son, Sam, said imploringly. He was the most polite of hobbit children Bilbo had ever had the misfortune of meeting, which meant Bilbo slipped him twice as many cookies and snacks as he did the other children who came by his door to play with little Frodo. “Please, could you tell us the part about the trolls again?”

“Yes,” his little cousin Frodo said happily. The wee lad had just lost his parents and though he was quiet and gloomy much of the time, the tales of Bilbo’s adventures with the dwarves never ceased to bring a smile to his face. “The trolls, the trolls; tell us about the trolls, cousin Bilbo!” 

“The trolls,” Bilbo repeated, eyebrows rising into his hairline. “Why do you always ask after the trolls? I’ve told you the trolls part nearly a hundred times, I must have by now, and yet here you are, asking away for it again. What is so fascinating about these trolls to you, lads?”

Both boys shared a look, giggles leaking from between their little lips. They had cake crumbs all over their shirtfronts, which made Bilbo sigh fondly on the inside. Gamgee’s wife was going to holler at him something fierce for letting them dirty their clothes so on the day after laundry day, but children would be children after all.

“It’s just that, it’s hard for us to imagine, that’s all,” Sam tried to explain. Frodo nodded vigorously beside him, his dark little curls bouncing. 

“Hard for you to imagine,” Bilbo repeated, bemused. “What is so hard for you to imagine?”

“Why, the sight of Mister Thorin stuck in a sack,” little Sam exclaimed. Frodo nodded on beside him, his small face beaming with delight at the idea. “He’s just so big, Mister Bilbo, sir, and we just can’t imagine anything bigger than him and the trolls must’ve been bigger than him to fit him in a sack, but we just can’t imagine it happenin’, sir. So please, mister Bilbo, please; tell us about the trolls again, would you?”

A soft laugh sounded from behind Bilbo and with a wry grin he turned around to look behind him. Thorin leaned on the front door of Bilbo’s hobbit hole, his hair a mess of dark braids steadily dripping water. Behind him, peeking through the window around the edge of his shoulder, the Arkenstone caught the afternoon light and lit up the hallway behind it with its brilliance. 

“Go on then, burglar,” Thorin said softly. “Tell them about the trolls.”

Bilbo could not have fought off his grin even if he tried and try to fight it he did not wish to. His cheeks hurt with his mirth, but he wasn’t bothered in the least. “Hush you,” he told the dwarf in his best haughty storyteller voice. Thorin just grinned back at him, a sight as bright and brilliant as the stone that caught the light in the window sill. Bilbo turned back to the two children at his feet, watching with amusement as Frodo broke the last of his cookies in half to share with Sam. 

“Alright then,” the respectable hobbit turned burglar said, clapping his hands together merrily. “The part about the trolls it is then.”  
At his feet the two children cheered, as if they had just won all the gold in the world. Behind him Thorin laughed and the smell of fresh pipeweed drifted past his nose, brought from Thorin’s side to his. Thorin joined him on the bench, his bare feet pressing into the grass of Bilbo’s little yard, where he then offered his pipe for Bilbo to smoke. Bilbo did so quietly before launching into his tale of the trolls who had stuffed the dwarven king to be and his companions into sacks. It was, after all, the children’s favorite part.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is my first piece posted here. I've got this right now already on ff.net but I've cleaned it up some to post here. It was originally a Christmas gift for my little sister, but she didn't have any issues with me posting and sharing it, so tada! 
> 
> Also before anyone asks, the ending with Thorin in the Shire doesn't specifically say whether he's retired from being king and lives with Bilbo or if he's just visiting as a break from being king. I couldn't decided, so I left it ambiguous. 
> 
> Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed this. I should be posting more Hobbit stuff as well as some of my other stuff on here soon! :)


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